


The Sitting Room

by MllelaPiquante



Category: Young Victoria
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MllelaPiquante/pseuds/MllelaPiquante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Victoria thinks about her past and comes to a realization about her Prime Minister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sitting Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jusrecht](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/gifts).



> Hello, all... still wet behind the ears when it comes to fanfiction and thought Yuletide would be a good way to get into it. Very rusty in my writing, so hopefully I can learn something here. :)

_This is highly improper. Unseemly!_ Queen Victoria scolded herself for the hundredth time in weeks. Nervously smoothing a hair behind her ear, she gazed out on the busy palace courtyard below as she awaited the most important man in her kingdom.

Unfortunately, she knew there was nothing to censure in his behavior. No, Victoria had realized long ago that it was her fault for falling so head over prim little heels for him. _My own Prime Minister!_ She thought, sighing. He was everything she had been warned not to like or trust, yet he was the one person in England she could depend on. She was a skittish girl no longer, but still painfully unsure in many ways. She needed his guidance, especially with England in such unrest. And all over those ridiculous bedchamber appointments!

Victoria quickly turned around as her Prime Minister strode through the door. Yes, he was as handsome as ever. And as threatening to her emotions, if her furiously beating heart was any indication.

“May I sit, Your Majesty?” Lord Melbourne gestured to the plush couch across from the Queen’s favorite chair.

Victoria forced herself to focus. “Yes, yes, of course.” She smiled brightly, but quickly sobered, not wanting to appear the giddy girl.

He returned the smile, his eyes never leaving hers. “You wanted to discuss Your Majesty’s concerns about France?” He held up the packet of information he’d brought with him, undoubtedly more schoolwork for Victoria to do. He was forever assigning her lessons in statecraft, but given her distinct lack of training earlier in life, she was very grateful for his efforts.

“Yes, Lord Melbourne…” she began, but he quickly interrupted her.

“William, Your Majesty, is more than acceptable to me. I seem to be forever reminding you,” he said with a gentle, amused smile. Victoria’s knees began to shake.

If they weren’t so vital for state business, she wouldn’t allow these private meetings with Melbourne. She’d have put a stop to them long ago, if only for her own emotional turmoil. Her stomach churned like the Channel in a storm when he so much as looked at her. As it was, people talked. She knew all too well what they speculated about. Closeted alone, with her handsome, charming Prime Minister… what on earth couldn’t they get up to in her sitting room? Victoria knew that had she been a king, this would never have become such delicious fodder for the gossips.

She flushed hotly. This train of thought was dangerous. Improper. Highly unlikely… no, entirely so! Her mind searched for Prince Albert’s handsome face. _Yes, dwell on that, dear girl!_ she scolded herself. But it was so easy to forget him when Melbourne was around after Albert returned to Belgium. Victoria turned again to the windows, scowling. She longed to stamp her foot and make a noise of frustration, but that would have to wait for the privacy of her chamber.

Instead, she sat gracefully, as a queen should, primly arranging her skirts to cover her little shoes. Victoria noted that he had been watching every move she made, and doubtless every expression on her face. She always felt so exposed with Melbourne. He missed nothing.

Victoria tried to think back to when they had first met. How long had she felt this way? As he began to speak about the French government, Victoria’s mind began to drift to an earlier time, before she became queen…

 _It must be a dream,_ Princess Victoria thought. _It’s been so long since I’ve been among decent people!_ She nervously arranged a curl on her forehead, and tried to compose herself as befitted a princess. _No, a future queen._

Her name was announced, and that of her mother. She put on a brave, brilliant smile as she entered the reception hall, her eyes immediately drawn to her beloved uncle. Taking his arm, she made easy, heartfelt conversation, all the while taking note of how much the king had aged. _And my mother and Conroy cannot have made things easier for him,_ Victoria winced as she searched the crowd for her mother. Her eyes widened.

A gentleman was staring intently at her from across the reception hall. He spoke with a lovely, dark haired lady, but gazed steadily at Victoria as if memorizing her. She could feel her face begin to flush under such intense scrutiny and quickly looked away.

“Ah, I see the Prime Minister has taken note of you,” her uncle smiled.

“That is Lord Melbourne?” Victoria asked, surprised. She had been expecting someone much less interesting. And a good deal less handsome.

King William raised an eyebrow. “I’m astonished you should even know his name, for all that they keep you so close…” he trailed off into thin-lipped silence, staring stonily at his sister-in-law. With no love lost between them, Victoria began to fear an outburst in the making.

Later, as she approached her seat, she found herself face to face with Melbourne. Swallowing hard, she nodded as he bowed. He was handsome, with those blond curls and sardonic dark eyes. Nothing at all like the few boys she’d been forced to make pretty conversation with.

“Your Highness,” he said, pulling out her chair. Gratefully, she sank into it, fluffing out her skirts and regretting she hadn’t put her foot down about appearing in such a girlish gown. She peered at him from the corner of her eye.

“I confess I don’t know too many faces here,” Victoria said ruefully as the first course was served. “Perhaps you might enlighten me? That is, my uncle says you’re quite knowledgeable…” she stumbled, and wondered why on earth it was so difficult to concentrate when he looked at her like that.

“Trust me, your highness, once you know them, you’ll find there’s precious little substance to most people here.” He smiled wryly at her, and Victoria was enchanted as he began to describe everyone around the table. When she hesitantly asked if he’d known her father, she nearly wept with gratitude as he described the Duke of Kent. Scarce mention had been made of the man in her life, and she hungered for any scrap of information about her long-dead parent.

“Thank you, my lord.” She smiled. He lifted the wine glass to his lips and made a small toast to her.

“To the Duke of Kent’s excellent daughter, and the hope of our futures,” he replied. A few people within earshot joined in the toast. She blushed.

Later that evening, after her uncle’s spectacularly embarrassing and highly public tirade against her mother, Victoria was surprised to feel Melbourne’s hand on her arm.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

She knew her face was hopelessly red. “Yes,” she murmured, touched by the sentiment, but terribly humiliated. Melbourne seemed to notice this, and soon had her smiling again with his tales of members of parliament who snored during speeches. The outrageous behavior of her relatives was forgotten for the moment.

The evening drew to a close. As she sipped her wine (not heavily watered, for once), Victoria surreptitiously studied Lord Melbourne’s profile. She noted the strong line of his jaw, the curl that fell over his right eye, and the way he smiled so enigmatically, as if one could never tell what he was truly thinking. She felt a curious thrilling tingle spread over her and wondered what it meant. She had never felt so tongue-tied and nervous around anyone before, and was at a loss to understand why that was. Perhaps, once she returned home, she would find the answer in one of those forbidden romantic novels Conroy so hated…

The Victoria of the present was surprised. Had it really been so long since she began to feel that way?

“Your Majesty? Oh, I’m afraid I’ve bored you to complete distraction this time.” A familiar male voice cut in on her musings of the past.

She started. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Lord Melbourne. I must be more tired than I’d thought,” she said, embarrassed that she should have been so obviously daydreaming while he explained such important matters.

“Your Majesty, I really must ask that you call me…” he shook his head ruefully, giving up. “If Your Majesty is indisposed, I can return another time.”

Victoria shook her head resolutely. “No, I’m quite fine. Again, I apologize. I don’t know what came over me.”

Reassured, he resumed his explanation of the French situation. “If Your Majesty permits, we might have to deal with this cabinet of Louis Philippe’s in a more abrupt manner. I’m afraid they haven’t been well disposed toward us thus far, with such radical reforms.” Melbourne smiled his curious half smile as Victoria furiously tried to catch up to his train of thought.

“Hasn’t the French king himself championed reforms in the past? After all, he was brought to the throne in the hopes of being an enlightened ruler for the people,” Victoria commented thoughtfully after a moment. “I agree with much of what he’s done. Perhaps there is more common ground than you think, even with such a cabinet.”

Melbourne looked surprised. “Indeed so. However, I would caution against appearing to eager to go along with their ideas…”

Victoria shook her head, frustrated. “It isn’t a question of appearing overeager. I truly want to put many of these reforms in place for my own people. Why not housing for the poor? Why not trying to reform factory conditions right here in London?”

Melbourne tapped his finger against one knee, regarding her thoughtfully. “As I’ve said before, Your Majesty, I’ve seen these efforts come and go. Such things take time. It’s one thing to have ideas, quite another to put them into practice.”

Victoria frowned, tried to rein in her anger, and failed. “And as I’ve said before,” she bit out. “These things must happen sooner rather than later. The poor cannot wait. I’m not a child, William!” Biting her lip, Victoria rose and huffed in a very undignified manner to the window. She was shocked with herself. She’d never been so rude to him before.

She felt his presence behind her. Victoria’s anger turned to trepidation and, _blast it,_ her breathing became shallower. “I… I apologize, Lord Melbourne,” she said nervously. “I know that was rude of me, and…”

“I liked it far better when you said my name,” his voice interrupted her. Victoria turned around, her eyes wide to find him closer than she’d thought.

Slowly, so hesitantly she began to doubt it wasn’t her own imagination, Melbourne reached out to caress her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breathing coming in sharp, short bursts. She was shamefully, hopelessly exposing her most private emotions right now, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. All thought of sanity seemed to fly right out of the window as he cupped his hand behind her head.

“Your Majesty…” he murmured.

“N-no…” she stammered, eyes still firmly shut. “You, too, must call me by my name, for once.”

She felt his breath against her cheek as he sighed; very sadly, it seemed to her. Then his soft laughter. “I’m afraid I could never do that, Your Majesty. It’s quite impossible.” Victoria sensed him pulling away.

“You see,” he said, studying her. “Whatever our own desires, however much I’d give anything to do what I nearly did just now… you are England. You are my sovereign.”

Victoria opened her mouth to protest. He put up his hand.

“No, please hear me. Had you been anyone else, or should I say, had I been born a prince of even a minor principality…” he smiled his half-smile. She knew he spoke of Albert.

Melbourne sighed and began his customary thoughtful pacing. Victoria blinked, still barely trusting her own legs to hold her and wondering where he was going with this train of thought.

“You are in need of a husband. I confess I’ve been selfish since we met. I wanted you to remain alone, relying solely on me. Undoubtedly people have told you I’m greedy for power,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he paused to look at her.

Victoria nodded woodenly. “Of course, there have always been people ready to slander you,” she finally managed to say.

He nodded. “Well, I’ll be truthful and say that power wasn’t my only reason for encouraging you to remain without a husband.” Melbourne stopped in front of her and took her hand. “I’m proud of you, Your Majesty. You’ve come very far from when we first met, and I will always be yours to command. But… I believe it’s time for you to have a true helpmeet. Someone worthy of you. I believe you know of whom I speak.” He smiled, one of the most genuine smiles she’d ever seen from him, and she felt her knees weaken again.

He was studying her closely for a reaction. Victoria swallowed hard, and nodded. “Yes, I understand,” she said. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to throw it all away and allow him the kind of liberties she’d only heard maids and indecent women whisper about. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to kiss him.

But she knew how it must be.

Lord Melbourne was right. She was England, and like her predecessor Elizabeth I, Victoria could never be her own woman. If she followed her desires now, the people of England would never respect her. She wished more than anything that she wasn’t queen, just for a day, but queen she was and queen she must remain, with Melbourne’s help. Victoria felt part of her heart break as she tried to keep her tears at bay.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, blocking out the painful sight of him, and nodded once more, affirming her choice. Feeling the faintest touch on her cheek, Queen Victoria listened as her Prime Minister’s footsteps faded and the door to her sitting room opened and closed. At that moment, a part of her, too, shut fast as she strode resolutely to her writing desk.

“My dear Albert,” she wrote…


End file.
